


Catching up

by aquileaofthelonelymountain



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: Good Omens: Lockdown, Romance, Softness, obligatory queen references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24930286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquileaofthelonelymountain/pseuds/aquileaofthelonelymountain
Summary: Crowley was a ball beneath a heap of dark blankets. He was curled up tight, and only a small part of his face and some strands of messed-up hair peeked out. There was an alarm clock on the bedside table, set for eleven o’clock.That meant Aziraphale had more than enough time to prepare everything.Aziraphale decides to put his newly aquired baking skills to good use and surprise Crowley after his two-month-nap.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 123
Collections: AwakeTheSnake





	Catching up

Aziraphale hesitated.

His hand hovered mere inches above the doorknob. He wasn’t one to barge unannounced _and_ uninvited into somebody’s home. It wasn’t _polite_. But when one of his fingers brushed against the knob, the door swung open at once, putting aside any doubts that he might be unwelcome. The angel entered, and the door closed soundlessly behind him.

It was quiet in Crowley’s flat. The curtains were drawn, but Aziraphale found his way into the living room despite the dimness. In the weeks and months that had followed the Almost-Apocalypse he had been here often, sometimes even on a daily basis, and had thus grown familiar with the flat’s outline. He headed for one of the windows to let in some light. In passing, he placed a heavy basket on a coffee table.

The interior of Crowley’s flat had tended to be rather … sparse, to describe it politely. It hadn’t been a place to properly live in. But at each of his visits, Aziraphale had noticed a little something that had been added to make the flat more comfortable. It had started with a box of his favourite tealeaves in the kitchen – well, maybe it had started with the stainless, modern, right-out-of-the-catalogue kitchen itself. Then comfortable chairs had appeared, as well as a dining table, some lamps, bits and bobs – pillows on the settee, a quilt thrown across the back of a chair, some books lying around (although the angel had flinched at the way they had carelessly been tossed there; that poor treatment would damage their spines for sure). Altogether, he thought, it looked as if someone had taken furnishings from his bookshop and had brought them into Crowley’s flat. It should have been an odd combination, but it wasn’t. In fact, it looked very nice. Cosy even.

Maybe that was a good omen.

He drew the curtains aside. Light beams fell inside, and his gaze followed them right to a closed door. They were practically pointing there, nudging him to enter. Or maybe, he thought somewhat guiltily, he was just seeing what he wanted to see. It was one thing to enter Crowley’s flat without being invited, but entering his _bedroom_ without being invited was a completely different matter.

Not that he ever thought about Crowley inviting him into his bedroom, goodness –

That treacherous corporation of his dared to blush. Aziraphale turned pointedly away from the door, as if to make his position clear to himself. Yes, Crowley would wake up from his nap today. Yes, Aziraphale had missed him. But Aziraphale could be patient. He could wait until the demon woke up and stepped out of the bedroom by himself. It wouldn’t take much longer.

He didn’t want to wait, though.

He had missed Crowley _terribly_. But they hadn’t been allowed to meet, with that lockdown, and there’d been those rules –

Aziraphale sighed. He had never been good with breaking rules. Stretching their meaning a bit, maybe, or making use of some vague wordings. But directly disob– not doing what he was told to do? He was a hopeless case.

His determination was a hopeless case as well. Despite his best intentions to stay patient and not to intrude on Crowley’s privacy, he found himself in front of the bedroom door. His hand had barely moved towards the knob, yet it opened for him. Well, if it was that obliging … Then his entrance could hardly be considered trespassing, right? Feeling a little guilty nonetheless, Aziraphale took the final step across the threshold.

The curtains were drawn tightly. Aziraphale waved vaguely towards the door, and the light flowed a little further into the room, enabling him to see. He smiled.

Crowley was a ball beneath a heap of dark blankets. He was curled up tight, and only a small part of his face and some strands of messed-up hair peeked out. Sleep had smoothed the lines in his face. He looked relaxed and carefree. Younger, somehow, despite Aziraphale’s knowledge that this wasn’t possible.

There was an alarm clock on the bedside table. The angry red figures on its display told the angel that it was set for eleven o’clock. Of course. Crowley wouldn’t get up at any reasonable hour.

That meant he had more than enough time to prepare everything.

Aziraphale stood at the side of the bed for some more moments, his soft gaze lingering on Crowley. Had it really been just two months? Somehow it felt as if they had been separated for far longer. The angel found himself taking a step closer, but then he shook his head, scolding himself. That was enough of … of _creeping_ around! He couldn’t keep staring at Crowley like _that_! He had things to do!

With a flourish, he turned to leave. He came to an immediate stop, though, and stepped towards Crowley once more. He brought his mouth close to the sleeping demon’s ear and whispered: “Have a lovely dream about whatever you like best.”

A content sigh ran through Crowley’s body, and he snuggled a little deeper into the blankets. If he was smiling beneath their cover? Aziraphale liked to think so.

Now with an easy step, the angel returned into the hallway. He grabbed the basket and made his way into the kitchen. There he began to unpack it on the spacious cooking island, revealing the fruits of hours and hours spent in his own kitchen: different loaves of bread, scones, several little glasses of jam, and – if he was allowed to stay a bit longer, and there would be afternoon tea – a red velvet cake he was particularly proud of. The basket still held more treasures, eggs and bacon and fruit, in short: everything else that was necessary for a true feast of a breakfast. He had put much effort into everything, determined to surprise Crowley with a nice breakfast after his long nap. He had practiced a lot during the last two months to improve his cooking skills.

At first, baking and cooking had mostly been a distraction, a way to stop him from pacing around the bookshop after his phone call with Crowley. Aziraphale had been bewildered. He hadn’t been able to forget the resignation in Crowley’s voice when he had declared that he would set his alarm clock on July … nor the softness of his _good night, angel_. Halfway through baking another sponge cake – the one he had given his wannabe robbers had been quite good already, but Aziraphale hadn’t been completely satisfied yet – he had finally admitted aloud that he didn’t want to spend the next two months without the demon, nor any two months ever again. He would miss Crowley’s voice, Crowley’s presence on the settee next to him, Crowley’s patience with his rants about customers, Crowley’s _everything_. Wasn’t it funny, in a way? There had been times when they hadn’t seen each other for decades, centuries even, and now the prospect of two months without the demon made his heart sink.

And that had been the moment Aziraphale had set spatula and measuring cup aside and had sat down to think. Or rather, to take all thoughts out of the equation, to forget about sides that were no longer and rules that were new, and to listen to his feelings instead.

The angel found back into the here and now when he almost dropped an egg to the floor. There was still a lot to prepare, he reprimanded himself, and no time for dilly-dallying. Therefore he set to work: He fried bacon and eggs (which turned out a bit crisp around the edges, quite to his dismay); he brewed coffee and tea (which smelled divine); he created a stack of very nice-looking pancakes (he had never tried to make crêpes since he was convinced that they would never be as good as the ones he had shared with Crowley in Paris).

At long last, the dining table looked like right out of some home and living magazine. And that without a single miracle! It had only taken a little encouragement to make sure the dishes wouldn’t grow cold. While he wiped his hands with a dishcloth, he glanced at the clock. Still an hour until the alarm would go off.

He paused. Just one more hour. Then, with a surge of panic: Just one more hour! He had to find something to do, to pass away the time, to distract himself. Aziraphale began to stroll aimlessly through the flat, and when he wandered into the room with Crowley’s plants, he grabbed the mister. They were happy for the attention and stretched their leaves towards him, but the whole matter took less than fifteen minutes, and he roamed the flat once more.

Suddenly Aziraphale stood in front of the bedroom door again. This time it didn’t open for him; it seemed to be waiting for _his_ decision to enter. The angel glared at it, but it was unimpressed. Then he softened. He had promised himself that he would show some determination, after all. He reached for the knob, opened the door and stepped into the bedroom.

Crowley had shifted in his sleep, a foot and the opposite arm stuck out beneath the blanket. A smile on his face hinted strongly at a lovely dream. It looked a bit soppy, Aziraphale thought as he tucked the demon in again. Then he sat down at the bottom end of the bed.

He felt easier at once, being close to Crowley. He always did. After all, he loved Crowley. Had been in love with him for a long, long, oh such a long time. He couldn’t name the exact point he had begun to fall for his demon; all those little moments they had shared had accumulated across the millennia, and before Aziraphale even knew what had been happening he had been lost, irrevocably lost.

But there had been _sides_ and _rules_ –

“My dear Crowley”, Aziraphale sighed wistfully, “just why is all of this so difficult for me? I’m an angel, a Principality at that, and matters of love should come easy to me. Yet …” He cast down his eyes as if Crowley might open his and stare accusingly at him. “Not that you would ever do such a thing. Accuse me of anything, or get irritated with me because I’m so slow. Not you. You’re always patient with me, and understanding, and kind. You would scoff at me if you could hear me now, but you _are_ kind. You’re a wonderful soul, Crowley. And I …” He laughed bashfully. “I have to practise in front of the mirror so I know what to say to you. I don’t think that I could speak to you like this if you were awake. It’s rather pathetic.” Then his face brightened up. “But I’m trying! I’m trying my best for you, Crowley, I promise. I can only hope that it’s good enough. Most of the time, my best isn’t good enough. At least it was never good enough for Heaven. But it always is for you. You don’t even ask for my best. You just ask for me. For whatever I am willing to give to you.” He watched the sleeping demon fondly. “Am I selfish for hoping that you’re still waiting for me to finally catch up with you?”

Lost in pleasant dreams, Crowley was smiling, and for a while Aziraphale got lost in his own dreams about how lovely it would be to fall asleep to this sight one day, and to wake up to it on the next morning. To watch the sunrise, slow and golden, to savour shared warmth beneath the blankets –

The alarm went off.

Aziraphale had expected some shrill, klaxon-like noise, something that might even wake the dead. Instead, a cheery melody suddenly filled the bedroom.

_Set my alarm, turn on my charm, that’s because I’m a good old-fashioned lover boy –_

The heap of blankets moved as Crowley’s hand sneaked out beneath it, blindly searching for the alarm clock. “Mpf”, he grumbled while the music continued, “that’s … new.” His voice was thick with sleep, yet so familiar that a smile bloomed on Aziraphale’s face. Crowley’s slender fingers found the clock, but he had to stretch a little to switch it off. With a groan, he fell back into the sheets. Only then he noticed that he wasn’t alone.

“Angel?” he slurred. “Guess I’m ssstill dreaming, then.”

“Good morning, my dear.” The angel watched, still smiling, how Crowley shifted in the sheets, not wanting to get up yet but trying to have a better look at him. “Did you have sweet dreams?”

“S-sssweet dreamsss?” Crowley echoed. His face was flushed, his hair was a mess, and his pupils were wide. He looked so utterly confused that Aziraphale couldn’t help chuckling softly.

“It’s the first of July”, he explained. “I thought I’d come to visit. Get you up to date after your nap.”

“Up to date, I see.” The demon grinned as he shot a meaningful glance at Aziraphale’s bowtie. His voice, however, was sincere when he said: “Thank you, angel.”

“It’s my pleasure. Really. I was looking forward to seeing you again.” He tried not to look away when Crowley answered with a smile on his own.

Finally the demon sat up and stretched leisurely. Suddenly he sniffed, clearly intrigued by the smell of coffee and fresh bread.

“I made breakfast for us”, Aziraphale explained. “I know that you’re not one for eating much, or eating in general, but I thought it could be nice.”

“Definitely smells good”, Crowley observed while slithering out of bed. “And after two months of napping … I think I’m quite hungry.” After another sniff, he picked up the pace, and he was the first to arrive at the dining table. The surprised sound he made had Aziraphale smile once more.

“Just look at _this_! Is all of this your doing, angel?”

“I did tell you that I found a whole cookbook section in my shop, didn’t I?”

Crowley huffed. “Owning a whole cookbook section doesn’t mean being able to produce anything edible, you know.” He sat down, and, leaning a little forward on his chair, eyed the dishes. “But this definitely looks very edible. All of it.”

“Then help yourself.” The angel reached for a pot. “Coffee, my dear?”

To his absolute delight, Crowley hadn’t pretended to be hungry just out of politeness. He did really eat, properly eat, and quite a lot at that. He tried a bit of every dish, and he was particularly fond of Aziraphale’s self-baked scones. He sung their praises around whole mouthfuls of them, spreading crumbs everywhere – his table manners were definitely demonic – and causing Aziraphale to blush. He hid himself behind his teacup as well as possible while he tried not to be too smug. Vanity didn’t suit an angel, after all, but he was just so happy that Crowley enjoyed the food he had prepared.

Never before had he seen Crowley eat that much food. The demon usually tried a few bites or nibbled on something, but all in all a certain Apocalyptic Rider could be proud of him. But now he was eating and only half-listening to the events of the last two months, but clearly enjoying himself.

Eventually, Crowley leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach with a content sigh. Aziraphale half expected to see a swelling like in one of those cartoons where a snake had eaten something with an odd or funny shape.

“Aziraphale”, he said earnestly, “it’s a shame you’ve only started cooking now. I’ve missed six thousand years’ worth of your meals.”

“Charmer”, the angel replied in a voice that held way too much delight. “It’s just because of your two-month-nap.”

“It’s not.” Crowley leaned forward again, placing his forearms on the table. “You’re a great cook. I mean it, angel.” He smirked. “I could almost get used to eating regularly as long as I get some of _your_ dishes.”

“So you’re saying … You’re enjoying this?”

Crowley blinked owlishly. “Yes, that’s what I just said.”

“Do you really think we … we could do this more often?”

“Sure.”

Was there some kind of subtle layer in his voice? Or was it rather Aziraphale’s own joy that made him hear such a thing? For, as non-committal as the demon’s reply may have sounded to any other person, it meant the world to him.

He beamed at Crowley. “I’m so glad to hear that! You see, ahem …” He swallowed, but forced himself to continue at once. No turning back now! “There is another reason why I came to see you.”

Crowley didn’t wear glasses, and for a split second the angel could clearly see that he thought about turning into a snake, slithering away and leaving nothing but a heap of black silk pyjamas and the crumbs of scones behind. But then he raised his chin a little, playing his nervousness about the angel’s serious voice down and wordlessly asking him to speak on. It made those adorable wrinkles appear on his forehead, and his eyes were golden like amber in the sun –

“I missed you terribly”, Aziraphale blurted out. So much to his well-prepared speech. “I really did. And it had me think. If … if something like that – some sort of lockdown, I mean – should happen again … Then I don’t want to be separated from you again.” He paused, and that was a mistake. Despite desperately wishing to speak on, he found that all words fled him. He _knew_ what he wanted to say, yet …

Crowley, however, noticed his struggle. He offered him a way out, and Aziraphale fell a little deeper in love with him for it.

“I don’t think you’re implying that we should simply ignore the rules should there be a next time.” Softly he added: “Right?”

Aziraphale let out a little huff of relieved yet somewhat nervous laughter. “No, I guess I’m still too much of an angel for such a thing. I had something else in mind indeed. You see, we could stay together without ignoring the rules … if we lived together. You and me.” His cheeks were definitely burning as he cast a glance at Crowley.

Now the demon looked like he wouldn’t be able to turn into a snake to slither away no matter how desperately he wished for it. He sat straight like a rod, and his yellow pupils were wide and unmoving. He looked like a statue. Then, suddenly, a muscle in his face twitched. A moment later Aziraphale was gifted with the tiniest, most hopeful, most beautiful smile.

“Are you suggesting … we move in together?” There was a tremor in his voice, as fragile as his smile. It made the angel reach out immediately, grabbing Crowley’s hand and giving it an affectionate squeeze.

Crowley flinched at the unexpected touch, and Aziraphale told himself not to be silly. There was no need for that sudden pang of hurt, no matter how deep it went. It was his own fault, after all. He tried to withdraw his hand, but Crowley held on to it, even returned the squeeze.

“Sorry”, he mumbled while his gaze flickered from their intertwined hands to Aziraphale’s face and back again. “’m not used to … thisss, I suppossse. Not like we ever did strollsss through the park while holding handsss.”

“I’m so sorry, Crowley.”

“For what? Not holding my hand in the park?” the demon joked half-heartedly.

“Yes”, Aziraphale replied, and he meant it. “After six thousand years, a touch from me makes you start … I’m so sorry, Crowley. You’ve always been so patient with me, and gentle, and I … I wish I’d have been a better friend to you.”

“Don’t apologise. It was necessary. We couldn’t allow ourselvesss to show”, the tiniest moment of hesitation, “affection. It would have destroyed us. You kept us safe, angel.”

“But what about now?” Aziraphale asked quietly, rubbing his thumb across the back of Crowley’s hand. To any observer, the caress might have looked casual, almost absent-mindedly, but Aziraphale put much consideration into it.

“What about the last months? Ever since the world didn’t end, we’re on our own side. There’s no need to hide any longer. And yet … yet I didn’t try anything. Didn’t _do_ anything to change things. Things between us. But I _want_ to change them.” The angel didn’t repeat the mistake to stop in his speech. Instead he kept babbling on, words after words after words leaving his lips. He had strayed from his prepared speech some while ago. “I don’t want to pretend I don’t see you in public places. I don’t want to avoid your gaze when we’re sitting next to each other on a park bench. I don’t want to see you just occasionally for lunch. I don’t want to hide with you in the backroom of the bookshop. No, the last one’s not true, I want to spend time with you in the backroom of the bookshop, but not because we have to hide there, but because it’s nice and cosy and we want to –”

“Aziraphale”, Crowley interrupted him in a gentle voice, “in the last months, we’ve spent more time together than just going for the occasional lunch. You did quite a few things to change … things between us.”

“It doesn’t feel like it”, the angel remarked unhappily. “All those things are only tiny steps, horribly tiny ones. And I’m … I’m trying to catch up with you, but I’m afraid that one day I’ll find out that you’ve moved far, far beyond my reach. Maybe”, his chest constricted with the painful truth of what he was about to say, “it would serve me right for keeping you waiting for such a long time.”

“Aziraphale”, Crowley said once more, and his voice was so soft that the heavy weight left the angel’s chest at once, “I’ll always be waiting for you.” Now it was Crowley who rubbed his thumb in soothing circles over the back of Aziraphale’s hand. The caress had both of them tremble a bit. “You’re too strict with yourself. There’s nothing wrong with taking little steps.”

“You’re kind, Crowley.”

“Shut up.” There was no heat in his voice, and it sounded almost like an endearment. Crowley was aware of it too, and he was blushing. “Besides, most humans consider moving in together a rather huge step. There are dozens of talk shows where people get an existential crisis over whether to take that step or not.”

Aziraphale didn’t have a TV, so he only nodded – the most modern equipment in his bookshop was the computer, followed by the gramophone.

“They’re quite amusing. Probably not your taste, but I’ll make you watch them with me until you think about kicking me out of our home.”

The demon’s teasing voice caused him to smile. And then the meaning of his words sank in. Aziraphale’s smile grew broader, up to the point where his cheeks began to hurt.

_Our home._

“You mean … you want to …?”

“I do, angel. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too! I’ve already been thinking about possible places. London’s wonderful, of course, but somewhere in the countryside might be nice as well, with a garden for your plants and … now I’m getting ahead of myself, am I not?” Aziraphale asked bashfully.

Crowley’s fond smile didn’t waver. “Just a bit. Why don’t you tell me about your musings while we take another one of the little steps? The one about the park? After napping for such a long time, I’d fancy a stroll.”

“I’d like that.”

After he had grabbed another scone, Crowley returned into his bedroom to dress while Aziraphale cleaned the dining table with the help of a little miracle or two. It didn’t take long for the demon to return, dressed in his usual stylish black and with some crumbs at the corner of his mouth.

“Soooo”, he drawled while wiping them away, “we’ll have a big kitchen, I guess? Where we can cook breakfast together?

“You want to help me cook?” Aziraphale asked in delight.

“Well, I can’t just wait for you to get all the work done, can I? That would be the demonic thing to do, but … It’s not that bad, getting called nice. As long as it’s you calling me nice.”

They chatted light-heartedly as they went downstairs, and when they left the building and stepped into the warm summer air, Aziraphale reached for Crowley’s hand.

And as they parted in the late evening, with a promise to meet for afternoon tea in the bookshop the next day, he took another step, raised Crowley’s hand – which had barely left his own during the day – and breathed a kiss to the knuckles.

***

That night, a demon didn’t return to his bed, and an angel didn’t return into his kitchen. Instead, both of them browsed through property adverts and came to the conclusion that the South Downs had a nice ring to them.


End file.
